


Timeline

by Javanne



Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-19 11:12:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17600240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Javanne/pseuds/Javanne
Summary: Disclaimer: LOLnope. Because I became curious about how the manga, musical and anime fit together with human history, this is an exercise in Tetris. This story occurs about 10 years before the events ofForgivenessand 13 years beforeA Small Kindness.Dear friends, I offer this bit of fiction as a mild amusement for a winter day. To be taken with cocoa.





	1. 1883: A new arrival in London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Eric Slingby, Senior Collections Agent of the London Dispatch, and his latest trainee.

_1881 Smallpox epidemic; hospital ships moored in Thames_  
_1883 Measles epidemic_  
_1885 Measles epidemic_  
_1887 Measles epidemic_  
_1888 Severe measles epidemic in Staffordshire_  
_1889 Measles epidemic; influenza pandemic between a third and a half of population ill. Medical opinion holds that this strain was the same mutation that returned in the 1918 pandemic_

____

____

1883—Alan Humphries is accepted as a trainee by Eric Slingby, Senior Collections Agent of the London Branch.

Slingby had forgotten how long he had been a Reaper. It was an endless cycle of 16-hour workdays, frequent overtime, death and darkness, harvesting souls and their life histories for the Library, filling out endless reports and forms. Few remained sane after the first half-century or so. The office was a holding cell of coping mechanisms. As those mechanisms formed, strengthened and failed, Reapers came and went. Slowly they would spin more and more off-center; then there would be an empty desk and additional work. Somehow they were always shorthanded. London had a reputation of being a terrible employer, chronically underfunded and understaffed, covering a rapidly growing population in a disease-ridden city. Slingby stayed because somebody had to. He made acquaintances but few friends. It hurt when friends disappeared. There was plenty of pain already. He advised his trainees to transfer out to safer places as soon as they achieved sufficient seniority.

At some point Grell Sutcliff appeared. He was a flash of bright color in a gray world. Flamboyance wrapped around a core of incandescent anger, a deadly opponent, amazingly strong, very good at the job when he cared to be. That he rarely cared meant that others often had to complete his work, but on the whole it was worth it for the break in monotony. Grell's madness cycled in irregular highs and lows, from mania to murder. He was constantly on the edge of violence. His teeth were always sharp and pointed in the Reaper fighting form.

With Grell came another Junior, named William T. Spears. In contrast to the noisy Sutcliff, he was disciplined, meticulous and reserved. With time he would doubtless become compulsive, a common enough pattern. Sutcliff, thrilled to be in a life where deviation from the norm was not a hanging offense, referred to himself as female and pursued the hapless Spears mercilessly. Spears made his disinterest very clear. Slingby thought at first that if Spears actually responded, Grell would run like a deer. However, as time passed slowly, year by weary year, he came to believe that Grell was serious in his attachment to the stern and remote Spears. Spears in turn did his best to keep Sutcliff out of trouble, curbing his outrageousness when possible and covering up his negligence. They formed a rather disturbing and abusive partnership when they achieved Senior rank. Neither seemed to gain any satisfaction from the arrangement.

Spears was an adequate Reaper but his best talents lay elsewhere. He moved naturally towards a desk position, directing those who were better at fieldwork. There was a bit of awkwardness as he learned exactly what kinds of management a senior Reaper of some centuries' standing would tolerate. 

Most unfortunately, Spears' abusive interactions with Sutcliff had become habitual. In the early days of his promotion, Spears struck Slingby with his scythe. Slingby backhanded him over a waist-high filing cabinet and into a wall, partly as an automatic response to an attack, partly as a necessary act of training. When Spears stood up, he found Slingby had been joined by a large group of Reapers, all holding their scythes, all regarding him with the same flat, range-finding gaze. Quite a few had advanced to the shark-toothed stage of battle readiness. Once Spears had internalized that non-Grell Reapers required non-Grell respect, things smoothed out a bit. 

The days dragged by, repeated endlessly in indistinguishable years. Slingby and his co-workers endured. Some came, some went. Trainees arrived, learned, moved on. 

A measles outbreak exceeded the limits of the understaffed London Branch in 1883. Two additional seniors were lost to demons due to exhaustion. Spears found himself back in the field, a most unwelcome development. Shortly thereafter, the Academy graduated a new class. Spears hired four of the graduates and assigned them to mentors.

Slingby came in from Reaping one day and found a brand-new trainee waiting for him. The man leaped to his feet and snapped to attention, as the Academy had drilled into his very marrow. Slingby laid his scythe and jacket on his chair, turned, and examined this new graduate with moderate interest.

"Name?"

"Alan Humphries, sir."

Slingby walked once around Humphries, absorbing all the little details. The bad suit issued to all graduates had been made as tidy as possible. The cheap shoes had been given all the shine they could hold. Bolo tie—not standard, but permissable in the last year of school; confident enough to be a little different in a place which demanded uniformity. Glasses frames modest to the point of invisibility. Physically mid-twenties at most. Right-handed. Small. Lean. Wiry. The Academy's starchy diet had fed him up a bit, but Slingby thought he had been unwell in human life. Anxious but hiding it well.

"At ease, Mr. Humpries. My name is Eric Slingby. Show me your hands." The standard-issue watch would need to be reset twice a day. Shirt cuffs clean but already fraying at the bottom from resting on tables; studious. Nails trimmed short, respectable calluses—this one had taken his combat drills seriously and done extra practice in his spare time.

"Records, Mister Humphries?" 

"On your desk, sir."

Slingby opened the folder and removed the contents. Class ranking—well, now. Very high indeed. More important for now, the physical training scores and final combat findings. The instructors reported that Humphries was quick, had an excellent strength-to-weight ratio, maintained a good sense of the position of partners and opponents in a melee, and scored surprisingly well in single combat given that all of his opponents were larger than himself. Promising. Final exam. Hah. Tendency to hesitate, clinical detachment not the best. Not a natural killer, then.

"Your scythe?"

Humphries summoned his slasher at a rest position, then offered it to Slingby. No flashy twirling—that was good, the Academy kids tended towards displays which could give a demon time to strike. One bad habit he wouldn't have to break. "Well, that will correct your lack of reach, won't it? Nice and sharp. We'll begin sparring sessions tomorrow morning. Put it away. I have completed my Reaps for today. We are going to the Cafeteria for my break, after which we will begin the famous piles of paperwork."

Over tea and food, Slingby asked further questions. "Yer small. Were ye bullied, and what came of it?" 

Humphries' eyes slid sideways, then back to center as he decided not to gloss over it. Good. Honesty was always good.

"Yes, at first. We were all so confused and frightened, you know? Some wanted any control they could get, even if it was only over their weakest classmates. Of course we were being watched for exactly that behavior. We were warned that if we could not work together we should certainly die alone, and that anyone who had any enemy but demons would be damned. A few did vanish suddenly." Humphries looked sick for a moment.

"And did ye fight back?" 

"I just attacked as soon as they started making threats. I could usually get in a good hit while they were talking and another one or two while they got over the surprise. It saved time. I—I think I got a lot of that while I was human, though I've no clear memories—a trained response, maybe?"

"Probably. And?"

"Um, I dodge and block pretty well. Security always showed up before they could damage me too badly. That's how I figured out that we were being monitored. The glasses. Every time a pair hit the floor, Security was there. And recording devices hidden everywhere. Never any question about who was involved, who looked on and did nothing, who struck first and why; they already knew everything. They'd take the bully away. If he returned, he was terrified. Wouldn't say a word about what happened to him while he was gone."

"Good. London does not tolerate a Collections agent who targets his own coworkers. Too few of us as it is. We've seen one or two in other departments. They might get one chance to change their behavior before we arrange an accident. In the interest of public hygiene. Ye do have an unfair advantage in your size, you know."

"What? I mean—how is that, sir?"

"If a bigger man challenges you and wins, he's a bully. If he loses, he's a berk. Anyone you challenge will be larger—win or lose, you're a hero."

Humphries laughed, and the world lit up. Oh, my.


	2. 1883: Fitting In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan's training begins. Eric gives him The Talk.

For the first time in decades, Slingby found something that interested him. This trainee was hard-working and wanted to learn. He had interests outside the job. He gloried in his new strength—definitely had been ill in his human life—and his special abilities thrilled him. He took direction well but could be remarkably stubborn when he thought a rule was being skirted. He also cared for his Reaps. Slingby couldn't remember when he had last cared about anything. Humphries made him smile. 

Humphries was modest, diligent and respectful, which pleased Spears. To Grell, he was a handy little fellow who could be counted upon to finish Grell's paperwork if Grell decided to bag it all and go shopping. He liked everyone, endeavored to be pleasant and fit in nicely. 

After a week he admitted to being somewhat confused about other partnerships in the office; he was still very new to the Reaper realm and remembered traditional human views on permissable relationships.

Slingby sighed, sat him down, and gave him The Talk. The Academy didn't cover interpersonal relationships, damn their prudishness - it should have been part of the Ethics lectures. "Look, Alan, human rules are for humans. They are based on reproduction and inheritance, each generation producing and supporting the next one. All tribes, most religions. Basic survival of the species. Unless a tribe is living in an environment that is borderline overpopulated, same-sex couples are usually forbidden. They reduce the gene pool and produce no offspring to continue the tribe.

"We—all Reapers—are sterile. Partnership's all about companionship over the long term. While we are no longer human, we still have the human need for family, friendship, community. Unpartnered Reapers have a greater tendency towards depression and deliberate carelessness in the field. We are encouraged to work in pairs, and not just for safety's sake. Solitaires often go mad. Well, madder than usual for a Reaper, and a lot sooner. Especially here in London where we are so overworked."

"So it's legal and accepted here? Men pairing up, men deciding they are women?" 

"Grell and Will are a special flavor of strange, but yeah, whatever helps them face another day. Nobody's business but theirs. One thing though, and this is important. Never refer to Grell as she or her. He's made enemies in other departments. If we are seen to accept his gender choice, someone might use that to reclassify him as female. He could be pushed into a desk job somewhere. We need him."

"No female Collections agents?"

"Not in so dangerous a Branch as London. Demons will target them in especially nasty ways. Here they prefer working in supplies and management. You'll see them in the afterparties. It's traditional for our Juniors and Seniors to date admins of similar rank, as long as nobody makes promises they won't or can't keep. Some Seniors who appear to be solitaires are actually in cross-department relationships."

"Does partnership always require, um," and Humphries blushed a most amusing pink, "carnal relations?"

"No. Our partnership is mentor/trainee. It would be inexcusable for me to presume on that. Seniors are required to partner with those of equal rank, for the obvious reasons. When you are promoted to Senior status, you will make your own arrangements after you transfer out. I will be assigned another trainee. I stay alive to keep them alive. 

"Between partners, it's whatever works for the people involved. Some partnerships, like ours, are temporary alliances of two acquaintances who accept each other as necessary for the job. Both platonic and sexual long-term partnerships often become marriages, in that the partners promise to protect and support each other even when it's inconvenient.

"But, Alan, you need to know that there is one great disadvantage to entering a serious relationship. When one half of a couple dies, it is devastating for the survivor. He might even have to Reap his partner. We in London are not given time to grieve. You need to think about that carefully. Those in partnerships tend to live longer, but sooner or later we all are killed. Will you want to risk it? It's a big decision, and everyone has to make it."

"Have you had serious partners?"

"Yes. They died. Long ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Some say that loss is part of our punishment, that it helps us on our way to understanding the value of life, that if we achieve that we will be Forgiven. I imagine they covered all that bosh at the Academy."

"Ethics went over it briefly, no questions permitted. We figured it was to give us hope and keep us obedient."

"Sometimes it helps to tell yourself you believe it. Personally I think there's a difference between losing a hard fight to a demon and simply allowing one to kill you. Maybe. When I'm drunk."

"Well, here we are in the Reaper realm, so obviously there is Judgement somewhere. Where there is judgement there might be mercy."

Later that summer, after a difficult reap, Eric comforted Alan when he expected to be rebuked. As the wind blew the flower petals like snow, they began a friendship. It grew and flourished. Alan began to work even harder for advancement. He had decided to stay in London.


	3. 1887: Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a deal is made.

_June 10, 1887_

Humphries was promoted to Senior a year early. Slingby immediately suggested that Humphries, now his equal in rank, move in with him. The two were good friends, they supported each other through the deep depressions that plagued all Reapers, and at his pay grade Humphries could barely afford a room in the senior dorms. His standard-issue uniform was threadbare and much mended. He needed a reliable wristwatch and a decent respectable suit. Much better for him to pay half of the rent on a senior apartment. Obviously. That spare room was just sitting there.

"Are you sure you don't mind, Eric? It would be a big change for you, having me underfoot all the time."

"Nah, I'll like the company. Besides, you need to save your money. Your suit is a disgrace. The office is taking up a collection just so we won't have to look at it. Grell said we should burn it and toast marshmallows over the flames. Fairbairn said he'd bring beer. Vanderveldt promised sausages and lemonade and volunteered Gupta to provide crudités. D'Acres commented that one couldn't build a really proper fire inside the office, so Fitzwilliam suggested a picnic in the country. It's scheduled for midsummer. Spears is arranging coverage. You'd better have something else to wear by then, unless you want to come home in your unmentionables. I'm going to get you a good-quality timepiece, too. Don't huff at me, shorty! You'll pay me back next year when you get your raise."

"And what other favors will be included in the rent, big man? I have standards, you know. Even though I am considering rooming with someone I once found sitting drunk on the ledge above Big Ben singing 'Bang Bang Lulu'. At least I hope you were drunk."

"Drunk or not, that proves I am too crazy to live alone. "Bang Bang Lulu' is reserved for Westminster Palace when Parliament is sitting. Somebody like me should be rooming with a sober, responsible companion who will scold him mightily when he misbehaves. Favors? I will never demand anything you don't want to give. In return, as long as we are friends only, you won't object to my hooking up in the afterparties. I need that close physical contact. So will you, in time, and you may seek it where you wish among the other Seniors."

"If you are my roommate and my partner, you will not be banging casual hookups. You will be banging me and me alone. I'll need some instruction, though." That blush. "I reserve the right to refuse anything I find distasteful. Agreement to be renegotiated in one year to the satisfaction of both parties. Oh, and the one who cooks does not wash the dishes. Is that acceptable?"

"Perfectly fair. I love you, Lulu. I have loved you for four years."

"I love you, Eric, but if you call me Lulu you get no banging. None." 

 

_June 21, 1887_

In midsummer, the office picnic was a great success. The story of the Horrible Suit had spread. Everybody got to attend for at least half a day, popping in and out as Reaping schedules permitted. Even Spears had visited, if only to make sure that nobody was having too much fun. The diversity of the British Empire was reflected in its Reapers. Moreover, those Reapers knew every coffeehouse, restaurant, pub, inn, and eatery. Reapers from all Branches arrived bearing wondrous delicacies and good wishes for the newly Partnered. The food was amazing. The fire was beautiful. The suit was history, and also a bit of geography as Grell had gotten it caught in the chainsaw; but into the fire it had gone, with something like military honors. At dusk, Alan had placed bundles of rosemary around the edges of the fire to perfume the night. Dressed respectably at last in a tailored suit and a watch that was accurate more than twice a day, he was ready to take an enormous step forward.

Before witnesses, Alan and Eric exchanged their vows. "Where you are, there shall I be. While I live, your happiness and safety shall be my goal. Throughout time I will scout before you, fight beside you, watch behind you. I will give you comfort and peace. I will always give you the truth as I know it, even if unwelcome. All you freely offer, I accept; all I can offer, I give. Let us light each other's way through the dark as we atone for our mistakes and hope for Forgiveness."

The witnesses cheered and offered congratulations.

In the darkness, Grell wept.


	4. 1888: The Ripper and the Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1888: Not a good year for anybody.

_August - December 1888_

Perhaps it was the hot, humid August weather. More likely it was the increasing population and the resultant increasing workload. One of Spears' senior collection agents had been promoted to management of another branch. His partner had transferred with him. A cocksure Junior had been killed by a demon after disobeying a direct order to stay well back. He had been unteachable from his first day, but his mentor was nevertheless upset after having to Reap him. Desperately shorthanded, the London branch was stretched very thin indeed. Now, Sutcliff was missing. He had been increasingly moody for some time. There had been wild outbursts and temper tantrums in the office and in private. Spears' responses had been increasingly severe. 

Grell loved Spears and wanted love in return. Spears, distant and repressed, found displays of affection to be offensive in public and embarassing in private. Grell wanted a grand passion, or at least a pretense of warmth. Since only public drama got Spears' attention, Grell continued it and steadily escalated. The colder Spears was, the more Grell pursued him and the more repressive he became. It was a vicious spiral which ended in a vicious fight. 

Suddenly, Sutcliff was gone, untraceable, vanished. He had removed his glasses and deserted into the human realm.

Spears, furious, divided Grell's duties among the remaining staff and took a share of the Reaps for himself. All Reapers were put on alert to watch for Sutcliff in London. It had been getting harder to cover Sutcliff's derelictions over the last year. As overtime increased, his coworkers became less able to pick up the slack. The new crop of trainees would not be ready to work independently for years. Fatigue was causing injuries and botched Reaps. Demonic interference began to increase as Hell realized how short-handed London was, and that the terrible Sutcliff was missing. 

Spear's repeated appeals for additional funding and staff were denied. The Administrator considered that the honor of being a London Reaper more than compensated for overwork and substandard pay. The employee turnover demonstrated personal laziness and disloyalty to the team. The casualty rate was merely the result of incompetence or carelessness. Moreover, the measles epidemic in Staffordshire meant all available resources were spoken for. Spears was officially reprimanded for his unreasonable petitions. 

One day in November, Spears realized that his staff had suddenly increased by one. Sutcliff had put on his glasses. He immediately ported into an alley in Whitechapel. There were two women to be reaped, a mortal boy of high rank, a demon bound in Contract, and a crazed, raving Sutcliff. He found himself having to extend an apology to the demon—infuriating! He took Sutcliff into custody and sent Humphries to do the Reaps. If he had not been so angry he might have noticed that Humphries was hollow-eyed with weariness. But then, so were they all.

Sutcliff had formed a passion for the Phantomhive demon, Sebastian Michaelis, whose chosen humanoid form resembled Spears in height, coloration and demeanor. Spears found it unnatural, vile and disgusting. He did not recognize his anger as being caused by jealousy. Grell did, and increased his drama accordingly. In retaliation, Spears ceased all efforts to protect him from prosecution. Sutcliff was tried and sentenced for his desertion and the Jack the Ripper murders. The punishment was light, as all the souls had been Reaped, but London lost his services for another six months. 

In December Slingby and Humphries were assigned a murder-suicide. It involved the poisoning of a large group of humans and should have required two senior teams to Reap. Humphries was injured by a Cinematic Record, Slingby by an opportunistic demon. Two weeks later, Humphries collapsed after completing a particularly heavy schedule. He was examined but no problem was found other than exhaustion. He was allowed a single day's rest. It did not help. A week later Slingby dragged him, protesting loudly, back to the Infirmary. There he collapsed again.

* * *

Alan rose up from darkness into an unfamiliar blur of white. It smelled like soap and disinfectants. Someone was holding his hand and shouting for a doctor. Eric. "He's waking up, come quick, he's awake—" The sharp stricture around his heart had relaxed. It was possible to breathe. That was good, wasn't it? Rapid footsteps. Something cold pressed against his chest. That would be the doctor. "Shut up, Slingby, I'm trying to to listen." Definitely a doctor.

Alan squeezed Eric's hand. Eric did tend to get excited when Alan was in trouble. Alan had known he was in trouble. Evidently he no longer had to worry about telling Eric that something was wrong. That whatever it was would not have an easy fix. The pain returned; the light faded. Eric called his name from a great distance. Alan fell away.

This time a diagnosis was made. The doctor documented a rare case of rapid-onset Thorns of Death.


	5. 1889: Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _1889 Measles epidemic; influenza pandemic, between a third & a half of population ill. Medical opinion holds that this strain was the same mutation that returned in the 1918 pandemic._

_January 1889_

May you come to the attention of those in power. _—Ancient curse_

Spears spent his morning sitting on hard, cold chairs, being lectured by persons well above his rank. The bad news came first.

His Absolute Altitude The Medical Director:

"There is no cure, Mr. Spears; Humphries is going to die. We cannot predict the progress of his illness. The Library has no pertinent information. The Realm has no facilities for long-term or hospice care. We are querying all the Branches for anything their older doctors or Reapers might know. _Spinae Mortis_ is not contagious. It's a curse, not a disease. If extreme overwork is a factor, we're afraid we are going to see more of it among your subordinates. This is unacceptable. Our protest over London's working conditions has been submitted, to a level well above the Administrator responsible for it.

"The Research Department is very interested in this case. Unfortunately they are interested in the syndrome, not the patient. We will attempt to keep them from harming him out of scientific curiosity. It will be best if he continues to work a regular schedule, to make him less available to them. They see no reason to allow him the right to refuse their experimentation. You, however, have the right to block their more destructive attempts. Use it. We'll stand behind any protest you make. 

"Mr. Humphries himself desires to continue in his regular duties, but do not allow him to Reap alone. The attacks seem to be triggered by stress. Keep him out of combat situations. Be prepared to restrict his duties to deskwork when his condition worsens. If he becomes bedridden we will endeavour to make his last days as comfortable as possible." 

His Extreme Elevation The Very Much Higher Up: 

"Little blame attaches to you, Mr. Spears. You have done your best in an impossible situation. That said, you are now expected to correct this most unfortunate state of affairs. 

"The Medical Division has filed a formal complaint about London's inexcusably inadequate funding. The Administrator who kept your budget at a centuries-old level has been set aside. His records are currently under review by his replacement, a forensic auditor who declares herself appalled and furious. She'll want your records as well, so have them ready, especially the lists of overtime-related injuries and deaths on the job. The London casualty rate is unconscionable.

"You must get this Branch up to a decent staffing level and keep it there. We await your application for additional Seniors, which you are going to file no later than 17:00 tomorrow. Be sure to request at least three times what you think you will need. We expect you to build a full three shifts without requiring double duty from anyone. All Shift staffers will be at least third-year Juniors whose Mentors judge them competent to work with a single Senior partner. All those of lesser training will be considered interns and will work with pairs of Senior partners. Interns will not count on your shift rosters.

"Agent Sutcliff has been informed that when he finishes his sentence, this return will be his last chance. His skills will no longer compensate for his unreliability, which has placed an unfair burden on his coworkers. If he cannot perform to acceptable standards, he will be reassigned to Administration as an entry-level file clerk. You, sir, will no longer shield him if he neglects his work. 

"We intend to activate some experienced, under-utilized Seniors from the hinterlands. They'll hate it but it will get them off their laurels and sharpen the skills they've not been using. This will become a permanent requirement of rural service—ten years in every thirty to be served in a city. They will not be coming to London; they are to replace city-wise Reapers elsewhere who will then become available to you. 

"Several well-staffed cities have been instructed to send you their extra Seniors as well as all Juniors who are ready for promotion; here's the list. When these Branches seize the opportunity to dump their incompetent or disruptive personnel on you, return them and request replacements. Your new Administrator will back you up, and we'll back her. Further resistance will simply mean that we will go in and choose the transfers ourselves from among their top-ranking employees. 

"We've also sent a formal notification to the Academy that their combat and weapons training is inadequate. This year's crop has been held back for further instruction. We will send you the best of them when you have enough Senior partnerships to make their introduction to fieldwork safe. In a decade or so you'll be able to transfer out the less successful ones. We understand that this will take considerable time, but it is essential to make all possible haste."

* * *

Will returned to his office feeling battered and bruised. From his files he retrieved all the previously denied requests for staffing and funding. He laid them, a pile of lost hopes and opportunities, on his desk. He took a deep breath, straightened himself to his maximum possible height and pulled Duty around him like an all-enveloping suit of armor. 

William T. Spears, Manager of the London Branch of the Shinigami Dispatch Society, sat down to build his fief.


	6. 1889: Trying to cope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The madness creeps in.

_February 1889._

Eric was drifting away from him, both physically and emotionally. He was distracted and distant and very seldom home. He was working second and graveyard shifts, while Alan was on first and second. Perhaps Alan's illness made it easier to stay at work. Alan had a dim memory of going through this before. Those around him slowly withdrew as his illness became worse. The feeling of _why can't he just die so we can get over this, so our lives can go on, so our world is something more than bad smells/patient care/waiting for death?_

Alan felt the loss keenly and worked desperately to appear strong and capable so that Eric would not be repulsed by him. Which made the illness worse, of course it did, and the fear of dying abandoned and alone crept into his mind and nightmares. 

Eric's unhappiness broke his heart. Perhaps it would be better for Eric if Alan initiated a separation. It was the right thing to do, to spare Eric the ugliness of the final days, and after all it amounted to the same thing in the end. He made the offer during a break on second shift.

"Eric, do you want me to move out into the Infirmary? They say they've a room I can use if I'm willing to let Research observe the course of the Thorns. This is going to be hard enough on you; you don't have to be my caretaker too."

"What? No! Don't insult me, Shorty. We made a deal. Anyway, you are going to be fine. You can stick to desk work and live forever."

"I will Reap as long as I can. We are too short-handed for me to slack off. I'm really fine as long as I stay out of fights. The new folks on first shift aren't up to speed yet, and some of them really resent being here. They're dragging their feet in protest. Pryor's mostly drunk. Higginbotham's a thief, so put everything inside your desk and lock it. Thorsson seceded. His posting here was a deliberate attempt to break up his partnership. The pair of them sent in an appeal, then went into hiding until the decision was reversed. They're back home, somebody's been demoted—for attempted murder, because London is seen as a deathtrap— and we're out of luck again.

"Fitz is out with an injury, and Jacobs is so spent he's asleep under his desk. I'm splitting his reaps with Gupta and Vanderveldt while Fairbairn is sharing Fitz's with those two scary fellows from Liverpool. That'll tie us up all shift, so the foot-draggers will get all the paperwork. But Grell's coming back. The demons will scream and run.

"Oh, and Spears is going to be offsite for a bit. He's investigating a circus which may be running a snatch racket. Wherever they go, children disappear. There's going to be a huge unexplained die-off in their organization soon."

"Really? A circus? Oh, he won't like that. How long, do you know?"

"Until he's done. He's joining as a performer. You would not believe the costume he has to wear. No, he's not in clown makeup! It's still a suit because he's Will and Will is never ever going to be seen in anything but a suit. I'll pick up some of his scheduling and administrative duties in the evenings. It's all just desk duty. When I get home I'll fix a big sandwich and some soup to leave in the icebox for you. You are so tired lately. You're the one who needs rest."

"I guess. I do have to—just, is there anything I can do—?"

"Want to make me happy? I found a copy of the circus poster showing Will in his sparkle suit. I want it framed and hanging in the office the day he returns. And then we're going to port it home before he can burn it."

It was so good to hear Eric laugh again.


	7. 1889: Eric, Counting. Alan, Pursued.

_February 1889_

Spears' assignment at the circus made it possible for Eric to leave London between his scheduled Reaps. Nobody else in the Division was senior enough to track his glasses, and nobody Higher cared. Especially during the graveyard shift. In his grief and desperation, Slingby went home. Everything had changed, of course. Humans were so rapid in their changes, but every city had its slums. In the back streets and alleys of Glasgow he began collecting souls. The only cure for Thorns was a whispered rumor of sacrifice. One thousand innocent souls to spare a single Reaper. One thousand mortal sins. A damnation for a possibility of a salvation. A rumor, a fairy tale, a lie. Grell inventing a story to wind him up. The only hope. _Fifty-four._

He abandoned Glasgow. He'd taken too many souls there. It would be noticed. He visited Edinburgh next. The collected souls whispered and wept behind his thoughts. Keep to the big cities. Big cities had more poverty, crowding, people who would not be missed. Nobody cared about the faceless poor, except the Highest. In the hour before dawn he would return to London to present himself at shift change. He would greet Alan, coming on to first shift, and go home for a brief rest. During the second shift he would Reap as scheduled and take any additional souls who presented themselves. Turning in the Reaps without losing his collection was tricky at first, but very careful attention to his Death Book kept things straight. This one, scheduled. That one, kept for Alan. _Eighty-two._

Alan was not doing well. It wasn't just the attacks. It was the damage they caused. The doctors muttered about heart and lungs and stomach. Alan swore he just needed rest, that things would get better when the double shifts ended and they could all get some sleep. Soon. Eric looked into the doctors' faces and saw a different truth.

In Spears' absence, Research came after Alan. They wanted samples, data, tests, exploratory surgery, here-take-this, does-this-hurt, now-some-blood, why-aren't-you-cooperating, we-need-data-before-you-die; a team tried to drag Alan into a lab full of terrifying instruments and a draped examination table fitted with restraints. Alan fought them off and ported into the Reaper office. Research followed, hot on the trail, you-are-dying-anyway-so-let-us-do-this, and were met by a group of armed and attacking Collections agents. Research had long forgotten all they had ever been taught about combat. They were no match for Reapers who routinely took on demons as a light entertainment before elevenses. 

Eric, shark-toothed and berserk, severely mauled two of them before Fairbairn and Jacobs pulled him down. Even the sulking new transfers were willing to accept entertainment from a bunch of lab rats. Thatcher flattened a Researcher with a chair, then stepped very hard on his syringe-wielding hand. The glass cylinder broke and its contents put its owner out of the fray. McCain targeted the one carrying the clipboard. The two Liverpudlians waded in with brass knuckles. Alan fell to the floor gasping; Eric pulled him out of the fight. Gupta and Vanderveldt chased the remaining Researchers down the hall, trapping them in a storage room where they dithered and squawked until they remembered they could port away home. McCain read aloud from the clipboard, to gasps of shock and fury. A copy was quickly made and hidden. It would be spread throughout the Realm by midnight. D'Acres, as aristocratically dignified as was possible while kneeling on a man's head, called Medical and the Administrator; his posh and plummy accent always got the quickest response. There was a great deal of shouting. The injured scientists were hauled away. 

Eric sat on the floor, backed into a corner, holding Alan on his lap and snarling at all comers. Finally Alan recovered enough to talk Eric down from his rage. It took a while. At last a doctor got close enough to check Alan over. He noted the blue tinge to his lips and fingertips, the blood in his mouth. He and Alan exchanged a grave look. Alan went back to telling Eric that he was much better now, and could they go get some tea? Tea made everything better. The cafeteria had doughnuts. Help me up? Thank you all for running those vultures off. Serves me right for agreeing to meet with them. Never again. Nasty bunch, academics, it's that publish or perish pressure...Eric? I'm fine now. C'mon. No growling allowed in the office or Cafeteria. Tea and a doughnut and everything's fine...

But it wasn't. Research had brought it home to Alan that he was dying. Any time now. He would die unforgiven. What then? Judgement. Damnation? Obliteration? He would lose Eric forever. Eric would be alone again, and he wasn't going to handle that well. Alan resolved to ask Spears to assign Eric a new trainee as soon as it was all over. _Someone stronger._


	8. 1889: Back from the Circus

_February 1889_

Spears returned from the circus. Another encounter with Sutcliff's smooth, scheming Sebastian had left him angry and disgusted. He'd had to share a tent with the despicable creature. The ailing boy who held his Contract—the Queen's Watchdog, at his age, honestly!—had also been present, at the Queen's request, as the correlations between the circus itinerary and kidnappings had come to her attention. 

The large number of names on the To-Die list had suddenly made sense. The demon was controlled, but the Phantomhive boy was not; he was having an emotional crisis. He simply ordered his creature to kill all involved, which included a house full of stolen children. Even the demon was given pause.

Ronald Knox, who was going through the 'too cocky to live' stage, assisted Spears on the reaping. Grell had taught him some very bad habits which Spears hoped to correct. Or they might be attitude problems which Grell had shared. Nevertheless, Knox had potential. A pity he couldn't assign him to Slingby. But Slingby was far too preoccupied nowadays. 

He noticed that Humphries looked poorly. Spears suggested it was time for him to cease Reaping, but Humphries stubbornly insisted that he was capable of normal duty. Several of the new staff were incompetent or unwilling, and Humphries was very good at his job, so Spears agreed. It made it easier to send the useless ones back to their previous employers. In spite of the additional staff, the influenza and measles epidemics were adding hours to all scheduled workshifts. 

Humphries had dealt with everything his rank permitted, but there was much more. Spears was pleased to see he had filled out the necessary forms to return toxic transfers to their original employers. In triplicate, to notify the Higher Ups that Leeds was cheating again. Leeds was going to get an unwelcome visitation from the Higher Ups. The word would get out. Other cities might stop dumping their undesirables on London. He turned his attention to the stacks of reports which had accumulated in his absence. Lost souls reported in Glasgow...

Grell Sutcliff returned to the office unrepentant, brazen and noisy. Self-centered as a cylone, considering his workplace a stage and his co-workers a faceless audience, he wore out his welcome almost before he entered the door. Oddly enough, Spears had missed him. Perhaps there might be ways to improve his behavior in the office by encouraging him to express himself in private? Perhaps a slightly calmer approach would benefit both of them? Somehow he had to make Sutcliff understand that he had to behave himself, that he was in danger of losing everything, that the Higher Ups were watching them both. 

Spears assigned Grell to investigate a report of unbalanced Collection numbers in London. Grell pursued it but as the task involved neither battle nor romance, his attention wandered. When window-shopping became boring, he turned to the much more exciting Reaping—epidemics gave one such _scope_ —and let the research slide.

* * *

With Spears back, Slingby was confined to the greater London area. The slums and docks were his first targets, but as the collection held within him grew larger their noise increased. It was distracting. Sometimes he could barely hear for all the noise. All that crying and moaning and now some screaming. So little time. _Two hundred six._ He began taking souls whenever they presented themselves. He even took a group of carriage-trade females in a park. They were of too high a social status. Somebody important would protest. Official notice would be taken. _Two hundred ten._

But all that mattered was Alan, bent with pain, leaning on his scythe, his respectable suit hanging loose about him. Alan was the light in his life, the warmth in his bed, the companion and lover and the laughter against the dark. Alan had reawakened him to all the joys that he had long ago forgotten. Alan was fading, fading, a little tiny bit every day. He could not share Alan's pain or take the illness upon himself, but he could try the one rumored cure. 

From the first kill, Eric had never hoped to live. He would be taken, and judged, and sent on to eternal damnation. That was acceptable, if he could save Alan. Alan would hate him for it. It was better than letting him die and returning to loneliness. Without Alan there would be no light. Eric counted and recounted. Not enough souls. Not enough time. Shut up, all you in there. Another soul here, and one there. _Two hundred sixty-four._ They wailed and whispered. The noise made it hard to focus.


	9. 1889. A Night in the Townhouse

The number of missing souls continued to increase. Grell's report described a search over a wide area but offered no useful information. Spears suspected it was largely fiction. He added Humphries to the investigation, thinking that it might be an easier duty than Reaping. When Slingby volunteered to go along, Spears was grateful. The problem was truly serious; Slingby and Humphries were an excellent team; perhaps they could discover the soul thief before the problem escalated to the Higher Ups. Madame Administrator would not be pleased. Spears was very aware that Grell was beginning one of his manic cycles. This could be dangerous for both of them if he was caught trying to cover for another outbreak of bad behavior.

Alan searched through London while Eric steered him away from the locations of his most recent activity and Grell wandered off whenever something caught his eye. They came upon Grell's demon. Eric commented on his good looks, and suddenly it was all just too much. Alan, determined to prove his strength, and perhaps a bit jealous, picked a fight he could not win. Eric tried to call him off, too late. This attack was the worst yet, and it occurred right in front of Eric, who was shocked. So much for his efforts to hide the extent of his illness. Grell, indifferent to any feelings but his own, proclaimed it to the demon and all the world within earshot. Alan was left exhausted and unable to walk unsupported.

The demon offered them a room in the Phantomhive townhouse for the night. Clearly his master disapproved. Eric accepted, for all that there was a definite hint of spider and fly to it. Alan needed rest and would resist being taken to the Infirmary where Research might find him. He drew Alan's arm over his shoulders, allowing him the dignity of walking rather than being carried. 

Alan, stumbling along and supporting himself with his scythe, began to hallucinate. This was not those little flashes of movement at the edge of his vision—those had begun weeks ago, and a right nuisance they were. This was much clearer, a dark figure and a voice. The curse was calling him to his death. The voice was sweet and promised rest. He turned and followed a little way before Eric caught him and woke him from the spell. Eric half-dragged him to the townhouse and settled him in a guestroom bed. 

Alan woke to find Eric sitting beside the bed, and realized that Eric now knew exactly how damaged he was, and that Eric would want nothing more to do with such a broken, crazed, useless person. All he had ever wanted to do was make Eric happy. He had failed. 

His Eric, who was all that was good and kind, tried to comfort him. Exploring the beautifully appointed room, he found a couple of nightshirts in a drawer. He helped Alan into one, and tucked them both in to find what rest they could. Alan was shivering. Eric pulled him close to warm him.

The morning awakening was unpleasant. The curse had progressed. Alan's whole body ached. His breath whistled as though there were spines in his lungs. Quite possibly there were. His knees wobbled rebelliously. Eric asked how he was doing. Alan snapped at him, then apologized; there was no excuse for spreading the misery. They washed and dressed. With care Alan managed to descend to the first floor. Eric preceded him on the stairs, so that he could rest one hand on Eric's shoulder and the other on the handrail for support. His knees had steadied and the pain had faded. 

The household staff were setting up a large table for breakfast. Alan expected that the dour little Earl would want them out of his house at once. Politely he explained that they must leave and continue their investigation. The truth was that they needed to return to the office and report, and Alan desperately wanted a quiet cup of tea with Eric before Eric went off duty. As Alan had already done three consecutive shifts on four hours' sleep, he was hoping Will would let him go home as well. Or, more likely, assign deskwork. He could do that for first shift. How he was going to manage second shift was another problem. Jacobs owed him one—perhaps he could sneak a lie-down in a meeting room or storage closet or beneath his desk. He'd feel safer under his desk with his friends about him. He had nightmares about Research's operating room. Second shift had defended him. He took great comfort in that memory.

The Earl and his demon butler entered the room. The boy was trying for an expression of proper aristocratic disdain for the presence of servants and inferiors, but succeeded only in looking bad-tempered. Perhaps he was just uncomfortable in his layers of stiff, elaborate clothing. The butler radiated self-satisfied condescension. He accused Eric of the murders. Ridiculous. And—oh, my word—was that Grell? In an outfit that made him look every other inch a woman. And not one inch a lady. Bragging about his night with the demon. For an instant Alan felt very sorry for Will. _Not my business._

The demon gave his proofs. To Alan's astonishment, Eric admitted to the crime and attacked the demon. Alan's chest seized up, knocking him to his knees. He cried out to Eric, distracting him for a moment, and the demon slashed him badly enough to release his cinematic record. Alan, horrified, witnessed Eric's memories of his casual murder of four women. But why? Perhaps it might be something like Grell's Ripper madness? Eric ran. Alan followed, as well as he could, searching through the streets for his partner.

* * *

Eric heard a woman scream. Somebody was poaching his souls. Competition. Who dared? He followed, and met a man whose soul was even more wicked than his own. Not just an ordinary sneaking grabber, but a madman protected by wealth and rank from any mortal justice or moral law. Eric had quite forgotten to remain invisible; his collected souls were so angry, even though he kept explaining. And what did it matter, when his stubbornly rule-abiding Alan was becoming aware of what he had done, and was pursuing him? Alan, who was dying because Eric was not collecting souls fast enough?

Eric took the souls of the man's current prisoners. _Two hundred ninety-four._ The Viscount was thrilled to the depths of his degenerate being. 

Alan caught up, furious and demanding explanations that Eric did not want to give. Alan would want him to stop. If he stopped, Alan would die. Alan attacked him, but Eric as his sparring partner was able to predict and block his strikes until the Thorns froze him. Eric ended the fight with a frustrated punch to Alan's face.

The Viscount was filled with glee.

Each looked at the other and saw a willing tool.

The Viscount proposed renting the theatre at the Crystal Palace. It was short notice, but the facility was beginning to decline in popularity. A wealthy aristocrat would have no difficulty in reserving the space. He would install a travelling theatre company performing the popular _Les Contes d'Hoffmann_ and send invitations to middle and upper-class households. Innocent souls? Restrict the invitees to women and children. Only admit those gentlemen who were necessary escorts to ladies of sufficient rank to require them. Murder for the Viscount, souls for Slingby. Perfect, was it not?

Why, yes, so it was.

* * *

Alan Humphries was long overdue for his scheduled check-in. Spears had never known him to fail before. Had he become too ill to return? And if so, why had not Slingby or Sutcliff brought him back? It was disturbing. His fretting was interrupted when Knox reported that the Death List had suddenly begun updating with scores of new entries. All were dying in a single location, the Crystal Palace in South London. Obviously the soul-stealer was at work. 

When Spears and his Reapers arrived at the Crystal Palace, Slingby had collected some 700 souls and was duelling Sebastian Michaelis, the Phantomhive demon. Spears interrupted the battle to deliver a death sentence. However, the Earl Phantomhive had already commanded his demon to kill the shinigami. Michaelis claimed precedence as a servant of his Master the Watchdog, and thus as a servant of the Queen. Spears as the personification of Death was utterly indifferent to mortal social rankings. He informed the demon that this was strictly in-house shinigami business. In addition, the mortal London authorities were also present, although they were interested in another suspect. The result was a general melee. In the confusion, Slingby left with a hostage. The Viscount departed as well, secure in the knowledge that his rank and riches would protect him from any retribution as long as he left the country for a while. Indeed, Phantomhive and Michaelis were ignoring the fact that two murderers were involved. Queen Victoria had described one whose victims screamed, whereas Slingby's victims died silently. Unless he had deliberately chosen to frame Slingby for Druitt's murders as well, the demon was pursuing the wrong one. Accusing so lofty a personage as the Viscount Druitt might be too dangerous to his master's standing with the Queen.

The fight continued until the demon and Reapers realized that their primary target was long gone. They sorted themselves out in some embarassment. The demon left, grumbling about the hostage. Spears sent his Reapers into the theater seats to claim any souls that Slingby might have missed. He saw Sutcliff trying to sneak away and caught his arm. The dress he was almost wearing was in extremely poor taste. Honestly. He ported Sutcliff back to the office, confiscated his chainsaw and placed him under guard.

The search for Slingby began. 


	10. 1889: Do you need souls, Eric? Take mine.

_February 28, 1889_

"Tell me why you are doing this! Do you need souls, Eric? Take mine. I'm dying anyway." 

"No! If you die, it's all for nothing!"

"You're doing this for me? The cure is just a fable, Eric, and you will stop killing right now. The whole branch is after us. We've got to run." 

"This is the only way I know to save you. I have to try. Without you—I can't go on. I can't. I have become a monster. How can you bear to be near me?" _Nine hundred ninety-nine._

"I'm still your partner. Always will be." Alan removed his glasses. "Sorry, blind. Can't see your sins at all. Take off your glasses. Spears is tracking them."

"Resign? Together? They'll kill you too. If you go back now, they can't hold any of this against you." 

"Dead by scythe, dead by Thorns, equally dead. I've accepted that. But we can save you, and maybe have a little while together before I die. Hurry! Glasses off!"

"You are so stubborn. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Don't insult me, big man. We made a deal. Which both of us have broken by not being honest with each other. Come over here." 

It was very difficult. The glasses were vital to a Reaper. Taking care of them was the first rule a Reaper learned. They represented hard work, achievement, enslavement and their hope of Forgiveness. They were a lifeline if a Reaper went missing, their only clear vision in a blurred world. The frames were the first personal choice permitted in their lives as Reapers, a statement that they had passed their final examination. Even now, when their glasses could only bring disaster, it was almost unbearable to put them down.

They laid them on Alan's handkerchief, to keep them clean and safe until their pursuers retrieved them. They turned away. They ran.

_Nine hundred ninety-nine._

* * *

Spears sent his Reapers into London. They spread out, following his directions. At least this was not a hostage situation, as Slingby had quickly divested himself of a prisoner who could only slow him down. Spears stoked his anger, to smother the unbecoming regret he felt at the loss of such a team. Slingby had been a competent, dependable presence since Spears had first arrived. Everybody, himself included, liked Humphries. Their loss was more to him than a scheduling problem. He would have to deal with that on his own time.

Suddenly, Spears realized that Slingby had met another Reaper. After a moment they disappeared. Confound them! Humphries had joined his partner and both had removed their glasses. Finding them now would be line-of-sight only. He sent Knox to pick up the glasses and return. Both fugitives were now nearly blind. The Rules required that Spears call his Reapers as witnesses, throw the glasses down and grind them into fragments beneath his heel. He found that at this moment he could not bear to do so. He set them aside to be destroyed later, after he had dealt with the current chase.

Spears paused and considered. Slingby alone might have escaped their pursuit. Slingby with Humphries was not going far, not if stress and exertion triggered Humphries' attacks. If the primary purpose was to dispose of Slingby, then all Spears had to do was wait; the demon was hunting too.

He recalled his Reapers—why risk them? Even blind, mad, and injured, Slingby was dangerous. Spears could not lose any more people. He returned to the office and ordered all but a few of his men back to their normal assignments. Summoning Sutcliff, he commanded that he go to his locker, dress properly for duty and return to his desk. Spears was well aware that Sutcliff's Shameless Strumpet persona was completely useless in an emergency situation. If he rejoined Michaelis, he would flutter and flap and cling. He must not be allowed to interfere with the demon's pursuit. 

Sutcliff returned, sulking but presentable. His scythe taken away, with four stone-faced Reapers set to watch him, he had nothing to do but think. He began to realize that in abandoning his duty, aiding a demon and betraying his co-workers, he might finally have exhausted the tolerance of his only remaining protector. Spending eternity as a poorly paid, strictly confined file clerk loomed. Some fence-mending might be required. Bit by bit he shifted from the role of Femme Fatale into that of Will's Faithful Subordinate.

In his office, with Knox in attendance, Spears sat down with the Death List. His quarry was wounded and tiring. He would be healing fast, but not fast enough, and Humphries was a millstone around his neck. The Death List would tell him where Slingby died. 

Spears waited. The Death list ticked steadily along as Londoners succumbed to age, illness, incident or accident, and were duly Reaped. Knox fidgeted and yawned.

There.

Humphries had died.

Spears waited.

There. Slingby.

* * *

Spears and Sutcliff found the demon and the Earl admiring the swirl of souls around them. The demon related events in a few smug sentences, then bore his sullen little Master home. The Earl expressed no gratitude that Humphries had died trying to save him. Typical aristobrat. Would be much improved by spending several lives as a turnip. Spears summoned a few Reapers for cleanup.

Slingby's body lay in the snow. Spears ordered it sent to the infirmary and placed in stasis. He forbade that the soul be Reaped, or that Research be allowed anywhere near the corpse. He set Knox to retrieving the souls freed by Slingby's demise. Humphries' blood marked his place of death, but the body was gone. Grell squatted, running his fingers through the scarlet slush. He stood and held out both hands. After taking a moment to focus, Will could see a long silver hair running between them.

"The Undertaker has him, Will. He's an acquaintance of Sebastian's. Come with me, quickly, before he can do anything dreadful. He's—something not exactly human, and he experiments with the bodies of the dead."

Deep in the back streets of London, they appeared before the Undertaker's storefront funeral parlor. The giggling mortician guided them into a back room where a figure lay covered in linen on a makeshift bier. The Undertaker folded back the cloth to expose the upper portion of the body.

"A body with the soul unReaped! And such a soul, stained with a mortal sin, yet filled with love and loyalty, duty and dedication, sorrow and sacrifice! So close to being worthy of forgiveness, yet all thrown away to save another who was beyond saving! Is that not a wondrous joke?" The Undertaker hugged his ribs and shook with laughter.

Grell looked at the body. Truly, Sebastian had not done this. There was no smell of demon here. This was Slingby's strike, with Slingby's scythe. Slingby had attacked Humphries from the rear, cutting across the right shoulder and completely through the chest. Grell touched one finger to the ruins of the respectable suit. "He's ours, Unnie. We're taking him back. The things you do to mortal corpses won't work on him anyway. Our reconstruction as Reapers makes us too different." And how could this old lunatic have read Alan's soul? He must have been gossiping with Sebastian after the kill. Had he stood in the shadows and watched the whole confrontation?

There was an aura of carefully concealed power here. Respect was required. Slingby had taught him that. Will spoke softly. "Far too dangerous, sir. You'll be attracting the attention of the Divine as well as the Reaper Realm. Do you really want to anger the Archangel Michael? He has absolutely no tolerance for interference with the Judgement laid upon us Reapers, and he leads an army of beings as formidable as himself. The Reaper Realm owes an enormous debt to Mr. Humphries, as we essentially worked him to death. I intend to petition for mercy— no, for a Divine Intervention With Justice Ascendant, for this man and his partner."

"Hee hee heee! Good luck with that! What justice shall you beg for Slingby, who murdered a thousand because he could not bear to lose one? Who murdered his lover in his madness, and committed suicide a second time? Suicide by demon! Oh, what a laugh he has given me! And what a laugh if you are successful! And also if you are not successful, and they Reap and damn you for your impertinence! I know exactly how little the Divine cares for a Reaper's loss. Very well. Take your friend. Grell, fair lady, you will visit and tell me how this all comes out, and we will have tea."

"A lady does not visit a gentleman's domicile, sir!"

"Now, now, my dear. Many widows come here to arrange their husbands' burials. They are no less respected for that. Bring a chaperone if you so desire. Wear mourning and none may say that you are indiscreet. Shall we say three months from today? You are going to want to let things settle down considerably before you begin your appeal. Now let me enshroud him properly. It happens that I have another project in hand to keep me busy." The winding sheet was skillfully wrapped and pinned into place.

Spears lifted up the shrouded body. With a mutual nod, he and Grell ported it and themselves to the Infirmary. Humphries was placed in storage next to his partner. The pair would be moved outside time to await Spear's request for revival. As well as providing preservation, it would make them inaccessible to inquisitive Researchers.

Grell looked at the bodies and remembered the night of the bonfire. He had been so jealous of their love; and yet their love had brought them here. If Will ever warmed to him, would Fate make a note of it? Hunt them down for daring to have a moment of happiness? Demand an enormous price? And if Will did, and Fate did, would Grell as willingly pay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very welcome!


	11. 1889. After the Campania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will petitions the fearsome Madame Administrator for the return of his Reapers.

_April 24, 1889_

The Campania assignment had come to an unsatisfactory conclusion. Knox had begun the voyage in steerage, to familiarize himself with the ship's layout and the housing arrangements of the majority of its passengers. From there he had moved through the second- and first-class accommodations, checking the To-Die list to note those few passengers who were scheduled to survive. Sutcliff had joined at the collision point. After that, at least half of Knox's job had been to keep him on task. Both had been distracted by the presence of the Watchdog and his demon. The demon in turn had been distracted by the walking corpses, and all had fought the Undertaker—suddenly revealed as an ancient rogue Reaper of incredible skill, power and madness.

Reaping all the listed souls had been accomplished, but it had been a near thing. Knox and Sutcliff had both received painful lessons about underestimating opponents. So had the demon, which was the only satisfaction Spears could derive from the whole fiasco.

With this less than stellar episode on his record, he did not feel that he was in any position to ask favors. On the other hand, it did demonstrate the inadequacy of London's staffing. With Humphries and Slingby gone, Spears had not been able to send additional teams to the ship. The pair from Liverpool would have been perfect. No drama, no strutting, just competence. Spears had assigned them a trainee who was showing promise already.

Now the time had come to make his plea. His Petition for Divine Intervention had been formally submitted; he had been summoned to defend it. Undertaker's mention of the possible punishment for this action worried him. He had cleared his desk, cleaned his apartment, left his personal belongings in a box inside the door, written out the schedules as far in advance as possible, and compiled a folder of notes for his potential successor. Two pairs of glasses wrapped in a handkerchief had been placed in the care of Lawrence Anderson, the Director of the Spectacles Division, who had agreed to keep them safe and dispose of them if Will did not return. Lastly, Will warned Grell to behave if he was replaced. Grell received his instructions in a rare and terrible silence. He clasped Will in a gentle hug. Will returned the embrace and found it not unpleasant. How odd.

Madame Administrator, tall and stern, was ready and waiting for him. She folded her hands upon her desk and skewered him with her steely gaze. He wondered fleetingly what sort of scythe she favored. Machete, perhaps.

Carefully he explained how shorthanded they still were, how many years it would take to raise Trainees to Senior status, how the annual birthrates and influenza epidemics exceeded their ability to hire and train. Raising London's payscale to equal that of other Branches did not provide an incentive to transfer when London's other disadvantages remained. He confessed that his Reapers still could not keep up with the death rates without working long hours of overtime, especially with this latest loss. He mentioned that exhaustion sometimes caused unfortunate behavioral changes.

He described Humphries' work ethic and dedication and growing talent for administration, Slingby's strength and skill and excellence in training new hires and graduates, how their cheerful presence in the office enhanced morale. He pointed out that Humphries had contracted the Thorns due to a workload that was beyond his strength. He reported that other Reapers feared that the same might happen to them; also that Reapers nation-wide had informed him they would rather work in Hell than in London, where Research considered injured Reapers fit subjects for vivisection.

He disclosed that many Seniors chosen to transfer from other cities had defied their orders in spite of all the pressure their superiors could bring to bear. Six had seceded, although two had returned when a transfer was cancelled. He suggested that an act of clemency might begin to change their perceptions of London as a short road to death and damnation. He honestly admitted that Slingby deserved no mercy, but argued that Humphries deserved all that could be given. Reactivating him without his sworn partner would be cruel and would adversely affect his performance. 

"Madame Administrator, we are not equal to the task you have set us. Give me the diligent and dutiful Humphries, who can give me a sane and steady Slingby. Together they can provide evidence that the London Branch is changing. They can help make your wishes possible."

"I will demand a high price of you, Mr. Spears. Are you willing to pay it?"

He would give them no excuse to harm Grell. "I am a Reaper. I have nothing to offer but myself. As long as the price is required only of me, I will pay."

The woman's eyes gleamed. Her teeth sharpened just a little. Spears braced himself. 

"Very well, then. Very well indeed. You, sir, are due for promotion. You will decline it. There will be no future offers. You will stay in your current position and continue to manage the Reaper Division of the London Branch, bringing it up to the level we have decreed and maintaining that level once it is reached. We may change your responsibilities and title, but never your location. We will provide management training for you and your assistants and aides. They may leave, or build additional layers below you, but you will remain in place henceforth unless we release you. Agreed?"

"Agreed, Madame Administrator."

"Good. You'd be wasted at the next level up. Finding a replacement who wouldn't ruin the work you've already done would be difficult. Finding one whom your Department would be willing to accept would be worse. Now, I understand that Medical is holding the bodies, to keep them safe from Research? And the souls remain unReaped with memories still attached?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Excellent. If Slingby had been Reaped and damned, he would be irretrievably lost. A representative of the Divine will come to initiate their restoration. She will ensure that no trace of Mr. Humphries' curse remains. Remember that no time has passed for them. They will awaken as from a coma. Do not attempt to hurry Medical into discharging them before they have come to a full understanding of all that has happened and have adjusted to it. They will also have to come to terms with each other. You will allow them the time."

"Yes, Madame."

"Oh, and I have had a little chat with the Administrator of Research. I have made it very clear that I will gut and fry any of his subordinates who annoy these two Reapers, and that the Higher Ups will cheer me on as I do it. Report to me at once if they try."

"Yes, Madame Administrator!"

"Good. Go, Director Spears. Build me an exemplary Branch."

* * *

Will returned to his office somewhat dazed by his own survival. He very badly wanted a cup of tea, and another of those hugs. He went by Sutcliff's desk and asked him to join him in his office. The tea was excellent. The hug was even better. They made a date for the evening. Grell went quietly to open the door, turned and gave Spears the naughtiest wink, and danced away in a flurry of melodrama.


	12. 1889: Tea With The Undertaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grell and the Undertaker have a lovely gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, everybody! It's my birthday, and as a present I am gifting you all with the last chapter! Enjoy!

_May 25, 1889_

They were sitting in an exclusive tearoom rather than the shabby funeral parlor. Demure in a walking dress of sober hue—for who would ever recognize her in such a costume?—Grell poured a second cup for the Undertaker. Will was querying all Branches for news of him. Grell was not going to mention to Will that the Undertaker was back in England, hidden in a boys' boarding school. 

"Now that we have discussed the weather and similar harmless teatime subjects, let us speak of more interesting things. How did it go, my dear lady? Is your Will still among us, whole and unharmed? Tell me everything."

"Yes, he survived, though he really didn't expect to. His request was granted. The price is that he must remain in his current job forever. They like the progress he's making and want to prevent him from getting away. He was shaken, though. The new Administrator is a woman of rare strength and terror. Now, Unnie, I must have your word that nothing I tell you will go any farther. I'm not supposed to tell anyone of this, so if you can't promise your silence we will have to say our farewells."

"Grell, I vow to you that I shall never repeat a word to anyone." 

"Good. Well, now. The day after Will asked to have them back, the bodies were taken out of storage. They'd been hidden in one of those time-slips we use when we need to go forward for some item that's a bit more advanced. If we tweak them just right they will hold things outside of time, or just slightly to one side of it. It's a perfect way to hold things unchanged and undiscovered. Research had petitioned for possession of Alan's body, you see, and they couldn't be trusted to take no for an answer. They aren't happy with you, by the way. You beat them to him, though not by much, and then gave him to us. They don't know who you are, though, and the people who do know are not talking to them. They've made no friends in the Branch. Anyway. Out of the time-slip and into the Infirmary. Into a room that was guarded by some of our most fearsome folks. 

"A Representative of the Divine was waiting for them. She enveloped them and herself in a shield of golden light—very bright—and held it there for quite a while. Then it flickered and ejected Eric, hysterical and screaming for Alan. The doctors shot him full of shut-up-now and moved him into a bed. The nurses got him washed and into pajamas while he was too doped to fight. They explained things to him as the drug began to wear off.

"She held Alan quite a bit longer. She says the tiniest bits of ourselves hold maps of what our entire bodies should be. She had to deconstruct him and rebuild almost from scratch, but it made it easier to discard anything that wasn't Alan. The Thorns had spread everywhere. She destroyed them, but they left masses of internal scars which couldn't be changed back to functioning tissue. Lungs, heart, liver, all the ishy bits were pretty much ruined. Our healing ability just isn't able to overcome Thorn damage. Also, the Thorns were nearly mature when Alan died. Did you know those vile things might be able to seed? She popped a sample into a jar for Research. It immediately produced a bunch of evil nasty little black flowers. She says she sterilized the reproductive parts. That should keep the scientists busy for years and might even produce a treatment.

"When she released Alan, he woke up very upset. He calmed right down as soon as he saw that Eric was there. They tucked him into the next bed, shoved the two beds together so they could hold hands, fed them and left them to rest. They stayed in the infirmary for several days, recovering and getting over things. They assumed they would be tried and executed as an example to the Realm. They thought the guards were there to keep them in, not to keep Research out. The doctors told them they had been reclaimed so they could resume their duties, but they did not believe it until Will returned their glasses. 

"After that it was mostly physical therapy and rest. Eric spent hours helping Alan practice the simplest tasks. All his muscle memory was lost. Very uncoordinated, as if his new body didn't fit right. He caught up quickly, though.

"They had to talk out that whole thousand-souls business, too. Alan would scold and Eric would look like a child who'd been caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. Then Eric would say a number of things that made Alan go all pink and shy. At first they got panicky if separated. Pretty much back to normal now. They were released two weeks ago and start half-duty Monday."

"My goodness. I am happy for their good fortune. But how did you come by all this secret and delightful information?"

"Bridge. Madame Administrator and the Head Nurse are cutthroat tournament-class bridge players, and the Divine Rep is almost as good. They needed a fourth, and I'm not half bad. Being with the Divine Rep is very soothing somehow. She's a sweetheart. Except at cards. Now remember, not a word, just as I haven't told Will where you are."

"Indeed, I shall be silent."

"Let me mention this to you, Unnie dear. I may just be suspicious, but I don't think that those gracious ladies told me one single word which they didn't intend for you to hear. Higher Ups are sneaky that way. You may want to look for a hidden message somewhere. I have no idea what it might be and don't want to know. But on this one occasion, I may be a messenger."

"Ah. I shall give it some thought. Such communications are often oblique. Thank you for the warning." He himself had once had a most unpleasant experience with Research. It would be worth some contingency planning to avoid another.

"You are most welcome. Now, I really must be going. I need to dress for work. I have a trainee, you know—remember Ronald Knox? Dearest Will is trying to fill the poor boy with Essence of Boring. It is my sworn duty to counteract his efforts."

In a modest flutter of skirts and shawl, Grell was gone.

* * *

Beside the duelling pitch, Eric and Alan rested with their backs to a wall. Healing had not affected Eric's abilities, but Alan's reconstructed body had required some training. At first he was unsure of where he began and ended, and arrived at places before he expected to. Eric thought he might be a fraction of an inch taller than before, which would explain the nature of his clumsiness. Now after two weeks of repetitive exercises and two more of combat drill, Alan was almost back to peak condition. They were both still a little jumpy and hyperalert. In their line of work that was an advantage.

With the wall behind them, the sky above them, the empty pitch before them and a wide field of vision, they relaxed against each other's shoulders. Alan chuckled. "Knocked you over, big man."

"So you did, Shorty. Guess we don't have to demote you to trainee again."

"Eric. I will forever scout before you, fight beside you, guard your back. Somehow I will keep you safe. I love you."

"I love you, Alan. All my vows hold strong. If you wish, we can repeat them at Midsummer."

"Yes, and especially that bit about honesty. Unless you want to reword it to allow for little white lies."

"Speaking of which, tell me true now; are you really recovered enough to go back to work?"

"It's only a single shift, so—yes. I expect it will be partly administrative anyway. Will is plotting to offload a few official procedures on me in addition to my fieldwork. Although for some reason I'd much rather stay home with you."

"Sounds good. I'll just go tell Spears that we're monumentally disinclined to get out of bed and want another week off. And a raise, and to hang that circus poster in the break room."

Alan laughed, and the world lit up. Oh, my.


End file.
